A journey of the mind afloat in space and time. An emotion capture. Arresting images and some great poems and lyrics.

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Monthly Archives: February 2013

Harry “Breaker” Morant, Soldier, Poet, Horse Tamer, Lover, Australian folk hero and cattle drover. Executed 101 years ago today for the murder of Boers during the Boer War. His “war crimes”, trial and subsequent execution remain a controversy today. The trial documentation “disappeared” and has never since been found. The events have been the subject of many books and articles and the film “Breaker Morant” is well worth a watch. Directed in 1980 by Bruce Bereford and starring Edward Woodward as Breaker and Bryan Brown as Peter Handcock.

The Australians want him pardoned. The South Africans object. The Queen is caught in the middle.

His poetry is the bush doggerel of the outback, and reads a lot like Banjo Patterson, Robert Service and Rudyard Kipling.

Butchered to make a Dutchman’s holiday: byHarry Breaker Morant

In prison cell I sadly sit,
A dammed crestfallen chappie,
And own to you I feel a bit–
A little bit—unhappy.

It really ain’t the place nor time
To reel off rhyming diction ;
But yet we’ll write a final rhyme
While waiting crucifixion.

No matter what end they decide
Quick-lime? or boiling oil? sir
We’ll do our best when crucified
To finish off in style, sir !

But we bequeath a parting tip
For sound advice of such men
Who come across in transport ship
To polish off the Dutchmen.

If you encounter any Boers
You really must not loot ‘em,
And, if you wish to leave these shores,
For pity’s sake, don’t shoot ‘em.

And if you’d earn a D.S.O.,
Why every British sinner;

Should know the proper way to go
Is: Ask the Boer to dinner.

Let’s toss a bumper down our throat
Before we pass to heaven,
And toast: “The trim-set petticoat
We leave behind in Devon.”

When you feel sad it’s time to get the Len out, whack on the Cohen. Listen to 30 mins of Canadian lyric poet come balladeer and soon realise what you have ain’t so bad. That’s the whole philosophy of the blues. When things get bad, sing them out until the mood lifts and you start smiling. That’s why the blues is poor folk music. The poorer you are the better the blues. And if you have a busted jaw, an empty wallet, an unfaithful spouse and no job, you’ve got yourself one hell of a blues song 🙂

Suzanne: by Leonard Cohen

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she’s half crazy
But that’s why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you’ve always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you’ve touched her perfect body with your mind.
And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said “All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them”
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you’ll trust him
For he’s touched your perfect body with his mind.
Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she’s touched your perfect body with her mind

February draws to a close, and with it goes the Winter. March. An aptly named month, accidental though its meaning is. March is in fact named for the Roman god of War, Mars. But war is all about marching, and March give momentum to the year. A time of growth. The darkness is already receding and the days grow longer. The crocus’ and daffodils are bursting forth and the grass is beginning to grow. Better get the lawn mower out!

A lot to do today, so I won’ dwell long. I need a car charger for my iPhone. My daughter needs material to make a cushion, we need to visit an ailing grandfather, the grass must be cut, and rugby matches must be played. Amongst all that which is most important? Allow me to give you a clue…

If you are in Cashel on Sunday March 3rd 2013 then we have a walk for you. From the rock of Cashel to the rugby club, followed by a welcome reception at the club with fun and frolics for kids. We are doing this to raise money for Guidedogs for the Blind. If anyone would like to donate to the cause you can do so at the following link: http://www.mycharity.ie/event/cashelrfcjuniors/

Of course, if you just want to turn up for a walk we would love to have you along. The Rock of Cashel is one of the most remarkable and historic spots in Ireland. Ancient seat of the kings of Munster and later the episcopal centre for Christianity in Munster. It was one of the key visits made by Henry II when he invaded Ireland, and more recently was one of the few places visited by the current English Monarch, Elizabeth II on her historic visit to Ireland.

A walk is a journey. A road. Sometimes a journey is in time and space, and sometimes it is a journey of the mind, like this WordPress site. Mindship is a journey of the mind. JRR Tolkien knew this more than most, as you can see from his poem “Roads Go Ever On”

Roads go ever ever on,
Over rock and under tree,
By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea;
Over snow by winter sown,
And through the merry flowers of June,
Over grass and over stone,
And under mountains in the moon.

Roads go ever ever on,
Under cloud and under star.
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
Eyes that fire and sword have seen,
And horror in the halls of stone
Look at last on meadows green,
And trees and hills they long have known.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with weary feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

The Road goes ever on and on
Out from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone.
Let others follow, if they can!
Let them a journey new begin.
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet.

Still ’round the corner there may wait
A new road or secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

My father in law is ill, poor pére. He is in a nursing home at present, but I think he would prefer to be at home. Can’t say too much here as these things are private.

Today I planted a pair of Pear trees. I bought them as a valentines gift for Louise. Actually I think they say a lot about us as a pair. We are less about the ephemeral things and more about solid foundations. A bunch of flowers is pretty for a while but soon dead and gone. Two pear trees though, they live on. They are bare sticks today but will yield beautiful flowers every spring and fine fruit every autumn. And they endure, like our love.

And so to Pare. I pared back a chestnut tree today. Pretty radical paring job really. More a demolition than a pruning. It will make some nice fires next year when it is well seasoned.

So to a poem, well, it has to be about a pear and a nursing home, and it has to be about a ship too for my site. Very tricky:

You know the old saying, you don’t get a second chance to make a first impression! Dale Carnegie, in his book “How to win friends and influence people” figured we interact with the world in four ways. What we do. What we say. How we say it, and How we dress.

Of these I have no doubt that the most important is what we do. We are what we do. Look it up at wearewhatwedo.org if you don’t believe me. Change the world for a fiver 🙂

My son flew out to Kolkata this week and it is very funny to read the first impressions of a 16 year old upon reaching a third world environment. Here it is (edited for punctuation). It took two flights to get there, stopping in Dubai:

“I didnt get any sleep on either flight so I’m exhausted now. Today we did loads. On the first plane, I sat just a couple of rows behind first class so lots of leftover luxuries (biscuits, drinks etc) were given to me. Dubai airport was huge but we were only there for an hour. The next plane was horrible! It was dirty, the seats were smaller and were really uncomfortable compared to the earlier flight and we couldn’t watch anything we wanted on demand, there were 20 channels with different things on. Calcutta airport was shabby and dirty. On the flight to Calcutta they had to fumigate the plane during the flight so they sprayed chemicals throughout the plane. I also had to fill in a card saying what I had to declare ( fish, seeds etc) it was the same as Australia on tv. The hotel is great and everyone gets their own bed. Calcutta is much worse than you could imagine. There are slums next to skyscrapers and half of the city is under construction! Instead of scaffolding they use bamboo. Every car is honking its horn all the time and today we saw the aftermath of a car that went up in flames after tonnes of fire burst out of a manhole!!! We visited a school for young girls whose parents can’t take care of them. They were very excited and they performed plays, skits and dances for us. Cows wander through the city and people take no notice of them. Tomorrow we will be visiting a home for boys and on Sunday will will be given a full tour of Calcutta. The food isn’t great. It was nicer on the plane.”

The Cow; by Robert Louis Stephenson

The friendly cow all red and white, I love with all my heart: She gives me cream with all her might, To eat with apple-tart.

She wanders lowing here and there, And yet she cannot stray, All in the pleasant open air, The pleasant light of day;

And blown by all the winds that pass And wet with all the showers, She walks among the meadow grass And eats the meadow flowers.

You can imprison a body, but you cannot cage a man’s soul. There have been some “great” prisoners through the years. People who used their time in custody wisely and continued to fight for their cause. Time looks upon such people kindly. Nelson Mandela, Thomas Francis Meagher, Bobby Sands, Mohandas Gandhi, Leon Trotski, Aung San Suu Kyi. For the smart person prison can represent an opportunity as much as a setback, a classic case of life giving you lemons and you make lemonade. Many people know the Ballad of Reading Gaol, but it is not the only tale of woe from the Irish guest of his Majesty who had nothing to declare but his genius. Sadly his time in prison gave him only a very limited redemption. The fight for homosexual rights is far from won.

At Verona; by Oscar Wilde
HOW steep the stairs within Kings’ houses are
For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound’s table,–better far
That I had died in the red ways of war,
Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,
Than to live thus, by all things comraded
Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.

‘Curse God and die: what better hope than this?
He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss
Of his gold city, and eternal day’–
Nay peace: behind my prison’s blinded bars
I do possess what none can take away,
My love, and all the glory of the stars.